Clive Cussler - Shock Wave

Wellington, observed Pitt through the window of the NUMA aircraft, couldn’t have rested in a more beautiful setting. Enclosed by a huge bay and a maze of islands, low mountains with Mount Victoria as the highest peak, and lush, green vegetation, the port boasted one of the finest harbors in the world. This was his fourth trip in ten years to the capital city of New Zealand, and he had seldom seen it without scattered rain showers and gusting winds.

Admiral Sandecker had given Pitt’s mission his very reluctant blessing with grave misgivings. He considered Arthur Dorsett a very threatening man, a greedy sociopath who killed without a shred of remorse. The admiral cooperated by authorizing a NUMA aircraft for Pitt and Giordino to fly, with Maeve, to New Zealand and take command of a research ship as a base of operations for the rescue, but with the strict condition that no lives be risked in the attempt. Pitt gladly agreed, knowing the only people at risk, once the Ocean Angler stood a safe distance off Gladiator Island, would be the three of them.

His plan was to use an underwater submersible to slip’ into the lagoon, then land and help Maeve reclaim her sons before returning to the ship. It was, Pitt thought bemusedly, a plan without technicalities. Once on shore, everything hinged on Maeve.

He looked across the cockpit at Giordino, who was piloting the executive Gulfstream jet. His burly friend was as composed as if he were lounging under a palm tree on a sandy beach. They had been close friends since that first day they had met in elementary school and got ten into a fistfight. They played on the same high school football team, Giordino as a tackle, Pitt as quarterback, and later at the Air Force Academy. Blatantly using his father’s influence-George Pitt happened to be the senior Senator from California-to keep them together, Dirk and Al had trained in the same flight school and flown two tours with the same tactical squadron in Vietnam, When it came to the ladies, however, they differed. Giordino reveled in affairs, while Pitt felt more comfortable with relationships.

Pitt rose from his seat, moved back into the main cabin and stared down at Maeve. She had slept fitfully during the long and tedious flight from Washington, and her face looked tired and drawn. Even now her eyes were closed, but the way she constantly changed position on the narrow couch indicated she had not yet crossed over the threshold into unconscious slumber. He reached over and gently shook her. “We’re about to land in Wellington,” he said.

Her indelible blue eyes fluttered open. “I’m awake,” she murmured sleepily.

“How do you feel?” he asked with gentleness and concern.

She roused herself and nodded gamely. “Ready and willing.”

Giordino flared the aircraft, dropping smoothly till the tires touched and smoked briefly on contact with the ground. He taxied off the runway onto the flight line to ward the parking area for transient and privately owned aircraft. “You see a NUMA vehicle?” he shouted over his shoulder at Pitt in the back.

The familiar turquoise and white colors were not in sight. “Must be late,” said Pitt. “Or else we’re early.”

“Fifteen minutes early by the old timepiece on the instrument panel,” replied Giordino.

A small pickup truck with a flight-line attendant in the bed motioned for Giordino to follow them to an open parking space between a line of executive jet aircraft Giordino rolled to a stop when his wingtips were even with the planes on either side of him and began the procedure for shutting down the engines.

Pitt opened the passenger door and set a small step at the end of the stairs. Maeve followed him out and walked back and forth to stretch her joints and muscles, stiff and tensed after the long flight. She looked around the parking area for their transportation. “I thought someone from the ship was going to meet us,” she said between yawns.

“They must be on their way.”

Giordino passed out their traveling bags, locked up the aircraft and took cover with Pitt and Maeve under one wing while a sudden rain squall passed over the airport. Almost as quickly as it appeared, the storm moved across the bay, and the sun broke through a rolling mass of white clouds. A few minutes later, a small Toyota bus with the words HARBOR SHUTTLE painted on the sides splashed through the puddles and stopped. The driver stepped to the ground and jogged over to the aircraft. He was slim with a friendly face and dressed like a drugstore cowboy.

“One of you Dirk Pitt?”

“Right here,” Pitt acknowledged.

“Carl Marvin. Sorry I’m running late. The battery went dead in the shore van we carry aboard the Ocean Angler, so I had to borrow transportation from the harbormaster. I do hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”

“Not at all,” said Giordino sourly. “We enjoyed the typhoon during intermission.”

The sarcasm flew over the driver’s head. “You haven’t been waiting long, I hope.”

“No more than ten minutes,” said Pitt.

Marvin loaded their bags in the back of the shuttle bus and drove away from the aircraft as soon as his passengers were seated. “The dock where the ship is moored is only a short drive from the airport,” he said cordially. “Just sit back and enjoy the trip.”

Pitt and Maeve sat together, held hands like teenagers and talked in low tones. Giordino settled into the seat in front of them and directly behind the driver. He spent most of the drive studying an aerial photo of Gladiator Island that Admiral Sandecker had borrowed from the Pentagon.

Time passed quickly and they soon turned off the main road into the bustling dock area, which was quite close to the city. A fleet of international cargo vessels, representing mostly Asian shipping lines, were moored beside long piers flanked by huge storage buildings. No one paid any attention to the wandering course taken by the driver around the buildings, ships and huge cargo cranes. His eyes watched the passengers in the rearview mirror almost as often as they were turned on the piers ahead.

“The Ocean Angler is just on the other side of the next warehouse,” he said, vaguely gesturing at some unseen object through the windshield.

“Is she ready to cast off when we board?” asked Pitt.

“The crew is standing by for your arrival.”

Giordino stared thoughtfully at the back of the driver’s head. “What’s your duty on the ship?” he asked.

“Mine?” said Marvin without turning. “I’m a photographer with the film crew.”

“How do you like sailing under Captain Dempsey?”

“A fine gentleman. He is most considerate of the scientists and their work.”

Giordino looked up and saw Marvin peering back in the rearview mirror. He smiled until Marvin refocused his attention on his driving. Then, shielded by the back rest of the seat in front of him, he wrote on a receipt for aircraft fuel that was pumped aboard in Honolulu before they headed toward Wellington. He wadded up the paper and casually flipped it over his shoulder on Pitt’s lap.

Talking with Maeve, Pitt had not picked up on the words that passed between Giordino and the driver. He casually unfolded the note and read the message:

THIS GUY IS A PHONY.

Pitt leaned forward and spoke conversationally without staring suspiciously at the driver. “What makes you such a killjoy?”

Giordino turned around and spoke very softly. “Our, friend is not from the Ocean Angler.”

“I’m listening.”

“I tricked him into saying Dempsey is the captain.”

“Paul Dempsey skippers the Ice Hunter. Joe Ross is captain of the Angler.”

“Here’s another inconsistency. You and I and Rudi Gunn went over NUMA’s scheduled research project, and assigned personnel before we left for the Antarctic.”